


Looking Up

by Keystoffees



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Starter for 10 (2006)
Genre: 1986 music, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Cumbersmut (soon), F/M, Fluff and Smut, General Knowledge, Patrick needs a girlfriend, Romance, Starter for ten, University Challenge, cumberfluff, humour (a bit), i love 1986 quite a lot, patrick lets off some tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keystoffees/pseuds/Keystoffees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Watts is fed up. </p>
<p>Let's see him get a girl!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Up

Patrick Watts was fed up.

It had been at least six months since that unsatisfying fumble with a girl in a nightclub and he felt more than a little frustrated. He thought back to his "lost" week, the awful few days after they had been sent home from University Challenge, shamed and banned from competing again for another five years. He had spiralled out of control, staying in bed until at least eleven in the morning, going to the pub to drink beer and whiskey in the afternoons, ending his evenings way past midnight and often so drunk he hadn't changed into his pyjamas before going to bed. Hell, he'd been so depressed he'd forgotten to write his name on his milk in the communal fridge and had even stolen a strawberry yogurt from one of his peers one day when he was desperate for food. 

Patrick wasn't proud of his behaviour, but he had eventually snapped out of his awful mood; surprisingly, the gentle touch of a loving woman had helped. Well, she wasn't so much a loving woman as someone he vaguely recognised from the University Challenge team trials the previous year. She had sat the test fairly well, but hadn't known that thrips was another term for thunder bugs. He had a feeling she was a bit of a country girl too, so she should really have known it, and he'd had to let her down gently. 

On this particular night, he had chatted to her a bit over the music in the disco, pleased to find out that she was good company and quite amusing. When Spandau Ballet's True came over the sound system, he'd noticed her eyes mist over and her shoulders relax, so he'd taken his chance. A few soggy kisses later, he'd just about managed to run his hand down her arm and was about to make a move towards her chest when the music had changed again and Nena's Neunundneunzig Luftballons had broken her thrall. As he'd pulled away to smile nicely at her through his whiskey haze, she'd looked distinctly green and ran for the toilets. He didn't see her again.

No, it's time to get back out there, he thought, as he sipped Nescafé from his University Challenge mug and stared out of the window at the rain hitting the pavement below. He was just contemplating which of his snazzy pullovers to wear that day when his eye was caught by someone he didn't recognise, half hidden by a dayglo umbrella, walking quickly past and disappearing into the door beneath his window.

He listened carefully to the footsteps down the corridor as they approached his door and stopped. He took another sip of his drink and waited. 

***  
Philippa turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door to the university flat, not really knowing what she expected to find waiting for her inside. As her eyes scanned the hallway and further back into to the small living and kitchen area, she felt a little relieved at the fact the windows were all in tact and although a little musty, there were no nostril-stingingly bad smells to note. This will be alright, she thought as she dropped her bags onto the brown carpet and pocketed the key into her bright orange oversized cardigan. 

Better than the last place at any rate. Now, which bag did I pack the coffee in? She looked around and tried to remember where the mugs were when there was a knock at the door behind her. 

As Philippa peered around the front door, conscious that she hadn't even set foot beyond her own hallway, she was met with a pair of grey slacks, a geometric print jumper and a bag of sugar. 

"Good morning!" said a deep voice from behind the bag of Tate and Lyle. 

"Um... Hello," she said, holding out a hand to move the sugar so she could see who she was talking to.

"Patrick Watts. I live next door. Thought you might need some sugar." He said, clearly very proud of himself. 

Philippa looked at him. Ginger hair, parted straight down the side and slicked down with something her Dad would probably have used, the collar of a smart white cotton shirt peeking out from under his pullover, making him appear older than he was, but a huge smile that reached all the way up to his eyes, and, wow, what unusually clear and bright eyes he had. She couldn't help but smile back at him, although she wondered what she would do with the sugar she found herself relieving him of. She'd never liked sweet drinks.

"Thanks, I think," she said. "Would you like to come in?" 

"Oh, no, thank you. B-b-but do let me know if there's anything else you need. I'm right next door." He ran his hand over the side of his hair and flashed her another toothy grin.

"Philippa." She shouted as he stepped to the side and started back inside his flat. 

"Uh, very good." Patrick replied quickly, closing the door behind him. 

Philippa was sure she heard him shout something through the thin wall as she too closed the door and turned back to her bags. Now, where's that coffee? She thought, as she placed the bag of sugar down on the kitchen work top and realised she was grinning like an idiot.

***  
The next morning, Philippa had unpacked her bags and, despite being sure she had packed it, was still unable to locate the coffee. She threw on her stone washed jeans and pulled her wavy blonde hair into a side ponytail with her fluorescent orange band and pulled another huge cardigan over her shoulders before she knocked carefully on Patrick's door. 

"Philippa! What a nice surprise. I-I-I wasn't expecting anyone... would you like to... come in?" 

"Well I actually just want some coffee, but if you're not busy?" Philippa hadn't realised she wanted to go in, but as soon as he asked she felt a little flutter in her chest.

"Please, I was just, well, never mind." Patrick bustled past her and clattered in his small kitchenette before ushering her quickly into his tiny living room, which was a mirror image of her own. It was orderly and neat, his records lined up at the bottom of his shelves, a super-modern, red, angle poise lamp sitting on his desk, next to a photo of him with someone she recognised as being from the TV. On one of the higher shelves there were five or six small, well polished trophies sitting next to a cuddly toy wearing the University scarf. Philippa was amused and actually, despite her initial impulse to scoff, more than a little impressed by his obvious pride in his skills. 

Patrick handed Philippa a mug of coffee, gesturing for her to sit on the sofa and planting himself, a little self-consciously, next to her. She watched him grimace as he tried to take a sip of his own drink only to find it too hot.

"You've been on University Challenge?" she asked him, eying his mug.

"Twice," Patrick replied, beaming. Then his face fell. "E-e-except we lost. Both times. Well, in fact, the second time we might have won, if that idiot Brian Jackson hadn't ruined the whole damn thing by cheating. Trying to impress a girl, more than likely. I knew it was a bad idea to have him on the team in the first place, but... my hands were tied." Patrick slammed his coffee cup on the small end table, causing coffee to slosh over the sides. 

His face flushed pink, he stared angrily into the distance for a few seconds and Phillipa sat, a little uncomfortable but oddly enjoying this passionate side of him. It gave him a more exciting edge, she thought, even if he was getting his pants in twist about a quiz. 

"Oh yes, I think I remember hearing about that," Philippa said as Patrick cleared his throat and turned back to her, smiling bravely, green eyes shining, possibly because they were slightly teary. "It must have been embarrassing."

"Indeed it was," said Patrick wistfully. "And I can never go back..." 

Philippa asked Patrick about his degree and post-graduate studies in mechanical engineering, they chatted about her course in numerical analysis and shared interesting stories about their home towns. They even shared some jokes, once Patrick relaxed a little and stopped trying to impress her quite so much with his general knowledge. Philippa laughed at his awkward humour and admitted she wasn't particularly knowledgable about English Literature or the classics. Patrick had to admit that he loved it when she complimented him on his impressive brain for trivia, even if she didn't quite share his commitment to the cause. Patrick smiled, a little condescendingly, which she ignored, and said he understood. 

"We can't all be experts, or there would be no need for quizzes!" he snorted at his own joke, offering her a Hobnob biscuit.

Eventually, after quite a few episodes of Fifteen to One that Patrick had recorded on his VHS, she made her excuses to leave. Patrick grudgingly followed her to the door of his flat, grinning from ear to ear again and Philippa wondered if he had a girlfriend. If not, she thought, we might... She pulled on her Reeboks clumsily as Patrick verbally stumbled around something, stammering and clearing his throat before finally plucking up the courage.

"W-w-would you like to, erm, have... a drink. Sometime. W-w-with me? I mean, we don't have to do the quiz at the Crown, if you don't want to."

"I think that would be lovely." Philippa said, smiling, and before she could stop herself, she leaned up on tiptoes and planted a kiss on Patrick's cheek. It was soft and smooth and smelled really nice, she thought. Patrick flushed pink again and Philippa scurried out of his flat quickly. 

That night, Philippa dreamt of kissing Patrick again, but this time on his full pink lips, running her hands over his broad shoulders and into his smooth hair, which, she had already decided, would probably look spectacular once it had been well and truly messed up.


End file.
